


The melody of raindrops, akin to tears

by caspersmcfadden (bearsandwich)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Childhood Friends, Sadstuck, can this even be counted as sadstuck, i thought it sounded cool at the time, sad kids stuck on a meteor, so i answered my own question, theyre talented musicians, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsandwich/pseuds/caspersmcfadden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rose are walking home from music lessons and get caught in the rain and Rose wakes up from that previous scene on the meteor, sort of disappointed that her whole world is dead and if she dies there's almost no chance their race will ever live on and will be forgotten in that instant moment and wow, this whole homestuck thing is really sad and i'm gonna stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The melody of raindrops, akin to tears

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what this is. It's really short, I wrote it at five in the morning after a sleepless night and I was listening to pretty music. The text about learning to play the rain was the color of japserprite's on google docs but i have no idea how to format so there goes that. Please enjoy.

John turned his head up as he felt the sky’s spittle splatter on his nose. He giggled, high pitched as he was only nine and his voice was nowhere near close to dropping. He turned to his best friend Rose.

“Hey Rose! It’s raining!”

She turned her head at the calling of her name. She smiled in return.

“Good thing you brought your umbrella. Can you share with me please?” she requested. John smiled because she was always so proper. Even when asking for an umbrella--how cool is that? John opened up his umbrella. Looking at the sky, he saw a dark mass of clouds quickly closing in.

“John, I think we should hurry to your house. It seems as if the rain is getting heavy very quickly.”

He nodded, quickening his pace. He could see big drops of water marking Rose’s violin case. Becoming lost in thought as he continued to close the distance between himself his house (there were still at least five blocks--why did his music lessons have to be so far away?), he quietly thanked his lucky stars that he played the piano. At least he didn’t have to carry it through the rain. The rain which was coming down in sheets now and he was having trouble holding the umbrella down and--oh! He lost his grip on the umbrella. The umbrella took off into the sky filled with tiny clear bugs flitting around, dousing the ground. It wasn’t more than two seconds until he and Rose were soaked to the bone and they squealed, giggling and running to a bus stop for shelter.

“Why don’t we wait the storm out?” Rose said, giggling still.

John smiled, “That might be a good idea.”

They sat on the bench as buckets of rain plummeted down. Rose closed her eyes and swayed.

“What are you doing?” John questioned.

She opened her eyes, frowning, her head turning in confusion. “You don’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The violin. The rain is making music.” Her blonde hair was plastered to her head and her purple eyes stood out against the gray sky.

“No. I think you’re going bonkers, Lalonde.” John tittered.

She smiled, her violet lip gloss reflecting a glint of light, “No, I just have a better ear than you.”

 

**_So all you have to do is wake up and learn to play the rain_ **

**_Wake up and learn to play the rain_ **

**_Wake up_ **

**_Play the rain_**

**_Wake up_ **

**Wake up**

Wake up

Rose awoke with a cold sweat coating her delicate porcelain skin, glancing around her respite-block–correction, bedroom, she had spent too many hours surrounded by the exotic tongues of Trollkind. As her breath slowed, she grabbed a journal she kept by her bedside. She scribbled furiously, determined not to forget a dream of her old home, of her old habits. As the last letter of writing tapered off, she slowly placed the journal beside herself and threw her thin sheets off, standing on the cold ground.

She found herself walking without thinking to a room with an alchemiter that her comrades often used to appearify miscellaneous goods. Her fingers worked the machine automatically as if she were expert in the art of alchemiting and she found herself face to face with the only violin in paradox space. Picking it up, muscle memory took over and, in the quiet of the meteor, a haunting melody enveloped caverns of lonely stone accompanied by the sniffle of a homesick girl.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit unsure about what that summary did to benefit my writing.


End file.
